


You Don't Have to Put on the Red Light

by Gnomeskillet



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, M/M, Melodrama, loud serenading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnomeskillet/pseuds/Gnomeskillet
Summary: Maxim is a coffee shop barista in the college town of Transylvania, and he likes his job. He got to flirt with so many attractive customers, and twice a day, he had a fifteen minute break where he could sit and read all the Objectified Scotsman novels he liked. The coffee smelled wonderful, his coworkers were delightful, and Oggie back in the kitchen always gave him the first slice of whatever baked good he pulled from the oven.There was just one little problem:A busker named Dimo who liked to flirt.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [singswithtrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singswithtrees/gifts).
  * Inspired by [ROXANNE!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389108) by [singswithtrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singswithtrees/pseuds/singswithtrees). 



Maxim dropped out of college after the first semester. It wasn’t that he was stupid, but he lacked direction. He didn’t have a plan for himself, he never had; at least, not the long-term sort of plans that teachers and grown-ups always insisted upon. His plan had been to get away from home, and college had suited his purpose. 

Then, in order to stay away from home, he got a part-time job at Mama Gkika’s Monster House. Over time, he realized that if he dropped out of school, he could work full-time, which would make him even more money. Enough to pay the rent of a tiny studio apartment, anyway, and have a small budget for clothing and beauty products besides.

He liked his job. He got to flirt with so many attractive customers, and twice a day, he had a fifteen minute break where he could sit and read all the Objectified Scotsman novels he liked. The coffee smelled wonderful, his coworkers were delightful, and Oggie back in the kitchen always gave him the first slice of whatever baked good he pulled from the oven.

There were downsides, of course. The most recent downside was a busker named Dimo, who came in every morning to order coffee, waggle his eyebrows and smirk, then fill the shop with noise.

Okay, so he was actually quite talented with the fiddle, and his gravelly baritone had its roguish charm, but the man himself was scruffy, smarmy, and an overall nuisance. Dimo called him _sweetheart_ and mugged at him like he was some kind of smooth operator, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Maxim worked at a coffee shop in Transylvania, he’d have thought Dimo had walked straight out of one of his trashy romance novels.

The possibility was getting harder and harder to deny each day. It infuriated Maxim. How _dare_ his wildest fantasy just waltz right into his life. He was not even remotely prepared to deal with this, especially since there was no way the man was staying for long. Why would he? He’d shown up out of nowhere, he’d return to nowhere when he got bored, just like in the Objectified Pirate books. The men were always so undeniably attractive, but they always _left_ just when the heroine had completely fallen for him.

He wasn’t about to let himself fall for this objectifiable pirate, no sir. He was waiting for his staid and steady Scotsman to sweep him off his feet. Or Scotswoman. He wasn’t exactly all that picky.

The tinkling of the doorbells caused him to look up from where he was sneaking a peek at his latest novel, Claimed By a Scottish Lord, and immediately, he felt his soul leave his body.

“The regular?” he all but sighed as Dimo swaggered into the shop, smirking like he had a secret he was barely keeping. Maxim might not be the smartest kid on the block, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t canny. Just what did the bastard think he was up to?

“The regular,” Dimo confirmed, his smirk threatening to turn into a grin. Ugh. Maddening. Maxim forced himself to breathe in slowly and calm down as he turned away to fetch the busker’s coffee. He was a professional, and he could handle this professionally. He wasn’t about to let some rogue get the better of him.

“Something’s missing,” Dimo chided as Maxim handed him the coffee, thinking he must look so charming and handsome as he quirked an eyebrow at Maxim. Right. How could he _possibly_ forget the most important ingredient in Dimo’s coffee.

He just barely managed to keep his smile from becoming a snarl, but he might’ve let a bit more teeth show than was needed. Dimo took it anyway, shooting a teasing “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” over his shoulder as he walked outside to set up.

“You ought’a stop playin’ so hard to get,” Oggie snickered at him through the kitchen window, arms folded on the counter and a knowing grin stretched across his face. “He likes you, yanno. Even though you’re so mean to him.”

Maxim sighed and rolled his eyes, flinging a cup lid in Oggie’s direction before moving to tidy-up behind the counter. Oggie was always trying to set him up with _some_ one, it was only a matter of time before he caught wind of this. 

“I’m not playing hard to get! Look at him, he’s a drifter.” Maxim gestured towards where Dimo was tuning up his fiddle. “He looks like he shops at an army surplus store, his teeth are as crooked as his smile, and he smells like cigarettes and cheap cologne. He’ll be leaving soon, I’m not going to get my heartbroken over what will be, at best, a fling.”

Oggie just shrugged and shook his head, smile still on his face. “I’m married, Maxim. You should trust me ‘bout these things.”

Then he disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Maxim to his work and his thoughts. He could simmer over Dimo all day, if he let himself, but instead, he kept himself occupied by making sure every single container in the shop was filled, every customer was satisfied, and he even fiddled around with coffee recipes he found on the internet. Soon, Miss Agatha came in, signaling that it was time for his break, but only after Miss Agatha got her tea.

Together, they nestled into one of the couches facing the front of the coffee shop, and chatted animatedly about sordid romance novels. Agatha liked novels about Objectifiable Gentlemen Adventurers best and so, as they discussed what they’d read the night before, there was never any spoilers between them. Just tales of exciting derring-dos, swarthy men of strength and courage, and capable heroines saving the day while trying not to spill out of their bodices.

They had just finished catching each other up and settled in to read when it happened. Dimo’s voice, as bold and brash and raucous as ever, belted out the name “Roxanne” as loud and as gratingly as possible.

Maxim’s head jerked straight up, his brow furrowed and lips set in a scowl of disapproval, and there was Dimo, looking right at him. Their eyes met, and Dimo’s grin threatened to split his face in two, it grew so large. This… was it.

This was what Dimo had been planning all day.

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Maxim primly scoffed and rolled his eyes, flicking his head and rolling his wrists as he brought his book up a little higher. He would not give Dimo the satisfaction of a reaction, he would not.

His scowl deepened as Dimo continued caterwauling, and as Agatha elbowed him in the side, giving him an encouraging, eager look. He shook his head slightly at her, tightened his grip on his book, and resolutely tried to read his book.

Unfortunately, Agatha didn’t give up her nudging, and he could feel eyes resting expectantly upon him. Dimo was watching him, uncertain beneath the playful sparkle, Agatha watched him, everyone in the shop watched him, and even Oggie had come out of the kitchen to watch his reaction with baited breath.

It was too much. With so much attention riding on him, he had no choice but to capitulate to the coffee shop’s whim.

“His eyes, upon your face…”

He started softly, just loud enough for Agatha to hear. When she squealed in delight and flapped her hands, he grew louder, projecting enough for the shop to hear.

“His hands, upon your hands…”

Reluctantly marking his place in his book, he sang just a little louder, so that Dimo could faintly catch his voice.

“His lips caress your skin…”

He slammed his book down on the table in front of them, making Agatha’s teacup jump and splash just the tiniest bit. He ignored it, taking a deep breath and belting out with all his passion, all his frustration at the stupid, smoldering busker outside.

“IT’S MORE THAN I CAN STAND-!”

“ROOOOOOXANNE!” came the reply, Dimo’s voice as thick and robust with emotion as Maxim’s had been.

“Why does my heart cry? Feelings I can’t fight-!” Maxim swanned through the shop towards Dimo, hips swaying with each staggering step, letting muscle memory guide his feet to the door. His attention was on the busker, and the busker alone. “You’re free to leave me, but please, don’t deceive me, and believe me when I say…”

When their eyes met, it was like fire catching in Maxim’s chest, and his soul didn’t just leave his body, but ascended to a higher plane as well. Damn it, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to feel so strongly for someone he couldn’t trust to be by his side the next day and the next. His heart would break if he was left behind again.

He couldn’t keep the pain from his voice as he sang, “I love you.”

Dimo must have picked up on it, because he straightened himself up, pulling away from where he slouched against the wall. They sang their way through a repeat of the chorus, circling each other around Dimo’s fiddle case, eyes locked on one another. When they reached the instrumental interlude, Maxim broke away from the intense eye contact and swooned for the audience, dancing a tango alone. Dimo’s nimble fingers and swooping bow played expertly, and with his eyes closed, Maxim almost felt as if the busker was guiding his dance through the music.

Then, when the music reached its peak, Maxim dropped onto his knees, head thrown back as he sang, pouring his heart into the music. " _Why does my heart cry? Feelings I can't fight!_ "

Behind him, he could feel Dimo brace himself against the pavement, swooping and swaying as he frantically pulled his bow across the fiddle’s strings. Their voices harmonized and intermingled, Maxim’s voice desperate and full of longing, Dimo’s throaty and demanding, the name “Roxanne” like a prayer on their lips.

When the song reached its sudden, violent conclusion as Dimo knelt behind him and sharply drew his bow across Maxim’s neck. The tension in the air dropped like a weight off his shoulders, and the gathered crowd began a round of thunderous applause. Dimo helped Maxim to his feet, they bowed, then Maxim bolted back into the coffee shop.

He barely registered it as Oggie whooped past him on the way out, one of the coffee shop’s tip jars held eagerly out in front of him. His brain felt like static, his heart pounded like a drum, and his feet felt like they barely touched the ground. The feeling scared him, it scared him deep into his bones, but before he could make it to the safety of the counter, Agatha pounced on him, grasping his arms firmly as she beamed up at him, eyes sparkling as she bounced in place. 

“Maxim, you have to marry him, he’s perfect!”

Maxim sighed, grabbing her back for support, shaking his head. “Oh Miss Agatha, I _hate_ him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you not like it? Leave a comment below! Not sure what to say? Tell me a line that made you laugh! Tell me a line that made you cry! Tell me a line that made you get real angry and want to flip tables! Do you think a line reads awkwardly? Tell me and let me know!


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